


Dead Men Walking

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Troopers AU, Disease, F/M, Force-Sensitive Rey, Imprisonment, Jedi Ben Solo, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Rey (Star Wars), Plot-heavy, Smuggler Ben Solo, Storm Trooper Rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: R-2459 (still Rey in her mind-- always Rey), has been stationed on the Imperial prison barge,Purge, for a standard year. Assigned to General Population control, her days are routine and predictable. Or they were, until Ben Solo was arrested.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 126
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve read _Death Troopers_ , you know this AU is playing fast and loose with the canon timeline. But, I love this ‘verse and the idea wouldn’t let go, so let’s all suspend our disbelief and have fun :)
> 
>  **Notes on the modified 'verse this is operating in:** the Empire is still in power, and Darth Vader is alive. Rey, Ben, Han, and Chewie are their established ages in the sequel trilogy, which pushes the events of Death Troopers into the future by several decades.

Life on the _Purge_ was better than Jakku in most ways. It was climate controlled, clean, and came with steady pay. Rey didn't wake up with sand in her eyes and hair there; in fact, she hadn't even thought of sand in years. She didn't have to scavenge, sleep in wreckage, or starve. The Imperial prison barge was a well oiled machine. But it was also that: Imperial, and on the payroll of the Emperor-- even this far down-- wasn't somewhere she ever hoped to be.

She wasn't stolen as a child like so many others were, but she hadn't exactly joined the cause freely. Three years ago, an Imperial camp overtook Jakku's trade square, and from there began ensnaring strong, young junkers. Service was billed as voluntary during the first few weeks, but once enrollment piddled out, the sham was dropped. Anyone the Troopers had their eye on who hadn’t signed up yet was conscripted, assigned a call number, and loaded onto a ship.

Rey was one of those who’d held out the longest. She wasn’t interested in going to war, even nominally. She knew a good number of Troopers never saw action, were guards or techs, but she didn’t like the idea of that either. There’d never been much of a military presence on Jakku, which made the Empire and its warmongering a distant thing. News sometimes filtered through the trade square about a battle, but that was it. She didn’t feel affiliated either way. When she’d told the Trooper who initially approached her that, the Captain-- an older, battle-hard woman-- had laughed. Not unkindly, but how a mother might laugh at a child.

_War comes to everyone, sweetheart. It’s better to pick a side while you can._

In the end, a side was chosen for her. Rey was ferried off-world without even being allowed to go home one last time. Her meager belongings were abandoned, and her stored ration packs left to waste. She only hoped someone who needed them found and looted the place. On the flight from Jakku to the training facility, her measurements were taken, hair cut, and call number assigned. The droid tasked with that last spat it out of its chest on a punch card made of thick-cut flimsi. When she tugged it free, it’s gears whirred and it droned the number at her to confirm it.

No one but herself had thought of her as Rey since.

R-2459, as she’d been assigned, spent six months in basic training. Already fit and used to hand-to-hand, she was fast-tracked and placed in a secondary program instead. This advanced her weapons handling, but she never got quite as comfortable with guns as she was with a staff. That worried her at first-- what good was a Trooper who couldn’t shoot?-- but her facility supervisor, Captain Alecha, took it in stride. 

_So you’re a close combatant; that’s fine. Good, actually. The Empire need those, too._

From there her training was specialized, focusing mostly on vibro-weapons. She was given knives, blades, axes, even a lance, and drilled daily with seasoned fighters who taught at the facility. It was exhausting, and lasted well over a year. Longer, she noted, than most of her fellow recruit’s ranged weapons training did.

 _As it should_ , Captain Alecha assured. _Any lughead can pull a trigger._

It was hard work, and miserable most of the way through. Rey’s body ached and burned almost constantly. At the end, though, she was stronger than she’d ever dreamed she could be. It was nothing to knock down a fully armored heavy and pin his throat, or to toss her lance with enough force to pierce durasteel. She was hard, lean, and agile, and top of her recruit class across the board.

Pride in that was almost enough to make her forget she didn’t want to be there.

After that, things progressed quickly. Her skill set yielded half a dozen assignment requests from various high security facilities across the galaxy. Some were on planets whose names she’d never heard, or moons so remote she couldn’t fathom the distance. Just as many, though, were Imperial prison barges, and it was on one of those where she'd eventually make her home.

It was Captain Alecha who suggested she accept the assignment on the _Purge_. It’d be an excellent first post. The prisoners it housed varied wildly in threat level, and being able to suppress them would show she wasn’t just a sparring ring prodigy. So much of training was controlled and regulated that sometimes even the most promising graduate fell apart on duty. Captain Alecha didn’t believe that Rey wouldn’t be one of those poor sods, though. 

She believed in R-2459, and urged her to prove herself.

So she'd accepted the assignment, and two standard days later, a shuttle arrived to transport her to it's coordinates. It was a short flight-- the barge was docked nearby, apparently awaiting Captain Alecha's word--, and less than a week after leaving the facility, she was settling in on board. She was given her schedule, assigned a bunk, and after a routine check, her vibro-weapons were returned. If the blaster-heavy staff were made uncomfortable by her ax, at least they did her the favor of not gawking at it.

It took less than a month for her to prove her salt. Her Gen Pop Control shifts ran seamlessly, and the personal guard assignments were never a miss. She could subdue most any inmate, if not with a word or hand then with her vibro-ax, and though it usually left her bloodied, she never failed to break up a fight. She was as much of a regular in Dr Cody's medbay as she was in lockdown zones and riot-prone blocks. The most violent prisoners knew her by number, but were surprisingly amiable. When they weren't at the business end of a punch or vibro-blade, that was. Rey's skills in a fight endeared her to them more than other Troopers.

_Nothing like busting knuckles, right, Trooper?_

Rey didn't know how she felt about the assignment or its gritty details. Or rather, she did, but didn’t like to think about it. It didn’t help; in fact, it usually made things worse. Because she was good at fighting, sure, but she wasn't a bully. Prior to being conscripted, she only fought to protect herself. On the _Purge_ , however, it wasn’t her that needed protection. It was the prisoners she watched who did. They were constantly at risk of being killed by rival syndicates, or of being mistreated by guards and staff-- Warden Kloth especially, who Rey still, a year later, didn’t trust enough to have her back to.

The _Purge_ was better than Jakku in most ways, undeniably. In others, though, it was far worse. She could only hope that good service lead to quick promotions. She didn’t want to be throwing punches longer than she had to.

* * *

“R-2459,” Bissley Kloth drawled in greeting. “Thank you for joining me. I understand you were busy.”

She had been. She was training, and beneath her armor she was still sweaty. His summons was labeled urgent. There wasn’t enough time to shower.

“No, Warden,” she said anyway, not wanting to start the meeting off wrong. 

Rey couldn’t guess what this was about. She hadn’t been called to the warden’s office since her first week aboard, something for which she was grateful. The warden was a simpering, nasty man, and she was glad to never have much reason to interact. Just now, though, their lack of contact made the sudden summons more unsettling. Had something gone wrong on a recent assignment? She couldn’t remember.

After waiting for the door to clamp shut behind her, the man took a seat behind his desk. He settled into the chair and began swiping through his datacron. He read for a few seconds, then, without looking up, began paraphrasing the file.

“Conscripted on Jakku three standard years ago, age 19 at the time. One of the youngest in your group, though that doesn’t seem to have hindered progress. You were Captain Alecha’s close combat prodigy, correct?” 

“Yes, Warden.”

“And a top performer in all but marksmanship, including in a rather special, albeit experimental, class.” He grinned down at his screen, and the expression turned her stomach. “You recall, I trust, the visits from Lord Vader’s acolytes?”

Despite how the heat from her sweat tacked and fogged its vision panel, Rey was glad to be wearing her helmet. It’d keep the warden from seeing her blanche. Of course she remembered the acolytes, though she’d have paid her weight in beskar to forget. 

Several times throughout her stay at the Trooper training facility, the group of mystics had come to visit from Mustafar. They were on a special mission, and the clearance of it gave them access to any trainee they wished to test. For what exactly was unclear, but the exams were painful. She could still feel the echo of their power in her mind. As far as Rey knew, everyone was tested once. To her knowledge, however, she was the only one called back. Four separate times throughout her training, the acolytes probed and burrowed into her. Whether they got what they wanted or not was said to be classified. Until now, apparently. 

“The acolytes,” the warden continued, unconcerned with her lack of reply, “were searching for individuals with certain natural defenses. You were found to have several, and that, paired with your physical skills, is why I’ve called you today.”

Kloth looked up and Rey shifted, correcting any minute faults in her posture. He scanned her once over before carrying on.

“I have a new assignment for you. One of the utmost importance, due to its life-altering potential.”

That he said _life-altering_ , not _career-altering_ , wasn’t lost on her.

"What's the assignment?"

"In two standard days, we'll be retrieving a new prisoner from one of our affiliated on-world detention centers. Does the name Ben Solo mean anything to you?"

Rey thought before answering. "No. Is he a career criminal?"

Warden Kloth laughed. 

"That likely depends on who you ask. Suffice it to say he's a person of interest, and not just to any headhunter you might find in a cantina. The desire to have him captured comes from Lord Vader himself."

Kloth was silent a moment, allowing the words time to take effect. They settled like lead around Rey's aching calves. She'd never seen Darth Vader, but she'd seen his acolytes and heard the gossip. He was the Emperor's witch. What could he want with the sort of con the _Purge_ impounded?

"Lord Vader first expressed this interest some years ago," the warden said. "Recently, however, he's grown impatient. The bounty on Solo's head is now worth more than this ship, and there's promise of even richer reward for speedy delivery."

Delivery could mean several things.

"Does he want the man dead?"

"Alive, and as unharmed as can be managed." The warden settled back into his chair, fingers wrapping around it's arms. "Solo is, among other things, highly Force sensitive. That alone makes him valuable. The rest you can decipher for yourself from his file, which I can send to your datacron later."

 _Highly Force sensitive_. Rey's frown deepened. So that's why the score the cultists had given her mattered. Did Warden Kloth think she could resist Jedi mind tricks? She doubted that she could. She had no training. Still, if this mission was all it seemed--

"You said we'd be rewarded. How much?"

"Beyond the credits?" The warden shrugged. "I've been cleared to promote you, pending success. I believe captain would be a good start."

Her mouth cottoned. "That's...rather a large rank jump."

"And warranted, should you succeed. I cannot stress the mission's importance. So, what do you say, Trooper?"

The question was pointless. She'd been selected; it was done. Whether or not she wanted the assignment was irrelevant. How she responded, however, would likely determine how well she was paid, and factor heavily into if she was actually promoted. And she did want the promotion. Not for the rank's sake, but the extra freedom the captain's puck would provide. Her updated clearance would get her off ship more often, and the credits? If she timed a leave request right, those could get her off ship permanently.

But she was getting ahead of herself. She couldn't even entertain the idea of deserting before she'd successfully completed the mission. To do that, she needed as much intel on the man as possible.

"I serve at the pleasure of the Emperor," she said; a polite and acceptable answer.

The words were hollow and devoid of purpose, but if Kloth noticed, he didn't care.

"Don't we all?" He returned his attention to his datacron. "You'll have access to the file by curfew."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Wow, there’s a lot more interest up front in this fic than I expected. That’s so exciting, and I’m glad that so many of y’all are ready to dive in. Just a note before we get further, though, since I saw a lot of people aren’t familiar with the original _Death Troopers_. **The DT-verse deals heavily with disease, biological warfare, and gore.** That won’t come into play until chapter four, but once we get there, we’re hitting a sprint. Just wanted to give a little warning, and of course the tags will update as I go. But I figured I’d mention it now so everyone has plenty of time to prepare!

Rey spent her free time over the next two day cycles picking apart the file Warden Kloth sent her. It was, unfortunately, not much to go on. Operating outside of the Imperial war machine made Solo largely unknown. What intel existed came from spies and previous arrest records, neither of which brought the file anywhere near complete. There were huge spans of years where his trail went cold, and his most recent mugshot was six standard years old. The file was as shoddy as anyone’s who the _Purge_ picked up, and she should’ve known better than to hope for more. Still, it wasn’t totally useless. There was enough information to cobble together a half decent history, and during the quiet hours, Rey ran through what she’d read on a loop.

Ben Organa-Solo (human male, age 32) was the son of a Rebel General and a smuggler who, through an ever-lengthening string of runs and munitions deals, caused the Empire as much grief as his wife. Most of Ben’s childhood was off-record, and there was no mention of him again until he turned ten. At that time, he was pledged to the New Jedi Temple of Luke Skywalker, another huge thorn in the Empire’s heel. Solo spent several years as a padawan, though whether or not he completed training was unclear. Regardless, he was excused at age 16, at which time he fell into business with his father. From there, he began cultivating a criminal record, and to date had been arrested thirteen times. None of those incarcerations, however, managed to stick. The father-son duo were skilled escape artists. 

At the time of the file’s last update, he had no known body mods or prosthetics. He was considered to be healthy, strong, and exceedingly dangerous, both physically and mystically. His Jedi training, complete or not, was serving him well. He was known to use mind tricks and Force abilities to supplement his fighting skills, and was rumored, though not confirmed, to have a lightsaber. 

Probably just rumor, Rey decided, because who wouldn’t be able to confirm seeing a _lightsaber_? Unless, of course, anyone who would’ve confirmed was dead. That was a distinct possibility. 

She tried imagining what he’d look like once he was in front of her, working down from the headshot in his file. He’d be tall-- over six feet, according to his stats-- and built from a life of manual work. She chose her sparring partners in those two days to reflect that image, favoring the largest Troopers in the gym with her at the time. While they wrestled and knocked training staves, she imposed the grainy holo of his bust over theirs: his shaggy hair, liquid eyes, and generous mouth; aquiline nose and constellation of moles. His mouth was shut in the holo, so she had to guess the state of his teeth, but she imagined them straight as soldiers with handsome fangs. 

And then she’d shake herself, because _handsome_ wasn’t an appropriate word to apply to an inmate. 

“You alright, ‘59?” the man she’d been sparring asked, still flat on his back on the mat. He was panting, chest rising and falling rapid fire beneath a sweaty, standard issue training tank. “Just, usually you let me up by now. If this is personal, I’m telling you now, I had nothing to do with--” 

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not. I’m sorry, Nines.” 

She pulled back her stave, the butt of which had been digging into his throat. The skin of the hollow was an angry red, mottling and promising to bruise. Rey sucked her teeth. She shouldn't have pressed so hard. Tossing the stave aside, she held out an arm for him. He gripped just below her elbow and clambered up, rubbing his throat with his free hand and swallowing to test the ache. 

“No hard feelings. Just never seen you so distracted.” 

After releasing her, T-9999 (Nines for short) trotted to the edge of the mat. He grabbed his towel, wiping his face, neck, and underarms before peeling off his sweaty tank. He tossed it, then crouched and began digging through his gym bag for a dry, clean spare. That Rey was watching was irrelevant; he’d been in the program since he was ten, and his relationship with his body was one of detachment. 

“I’m not distracted,” she countered, retreating to her own half of the mat. “I just got sucked into the fight, is all.” 

She plucked up her towel, mopping her neck and drenched hairline. It was longer than Nines’, but not by much; just enough to annoy her when her bangs clung to her forehead. 

“Don’t give me that.” Nines tugged his tank over his chest, tucking the hem into his tactical leggings. “You’ve been jumpy since that meeting with the warden. Did the old skinbag ask you to blow him?” 

Rey gagged, the sound only slightly exaggerated. Nines laughed, and when he turned back to her, his expression was easy. 

“Come on, tell me. What did he say?” 

She wiped her face to buy herself time. She wasn’t sure how classified the mission was. Then again, who was Nines going to tell? 

“We’re picking up a new prisoner in a few hours,” she said, dropping the towel into her bag. “I’m supposed to guard him.” 

“From the other inmates?" 

“I don’t think so.” Rey dropped to the mat and kicked off her shoes, tugging off her ruined socks. She retrieved a fresh pair from her bag before continuing. “I can’t say much--” 

“‘Course not.” 

“--but from what I read, he’s dangerous. I think the warden’s more concerned about what he’d do to get off ship than what anyone else could do to him.” 

Nines nodded slowly. “Big guy?” 

“Huge, apparently.” 

“Good thing you’ve got that Dire-cat killer.” 

He was talking about her vibro-ax. Rey rolled her eyes. 

“I’d like to think I can get away without chopping him up.” 

“Of course you can. You're a pro, but if it comes down to it--” Nines mimed a hacking motion. “--at least you’ve got the option.” 

* * *

Rey didn’t go with the docking party to retrieve Solo. She was left stationed at the door of his future cell. It was newly scrubbed and chemical smelling, but otherwise no different than any of the others on the block. 

With its cells built into one of the _Purge’s_ middle decks, Block Jenth was relatively nondescript. It housed neither the softest or hardest criminals, and was, by comparison, sparsely populated. It had enough cells to accommodate 200 prisoners, double-bunked, but their load was currently light. A run of trials and a dozen group transfers had just taken place, meaning that all blocks were comfortably under capacity. Most inmates who slept in Jenth slept alone, and even then only half the cells were occupied. Placing Solo on this level was likely a tactical decision. It’d be harder to organize a breakout when his nearest neighbor was six cells away. 

It wasn’t entirely foolproof, of course. Block Jenth wasn’t a lockdown zone. The prisoners here spent most of their day in public areas, and as far as Rey knew, Solo wasn’t going to be an exception. He’d have her at his side for most of the day, but that was far more lax than total lockdown. Unless he caused trouble within the first week, which was possible, but there was no point in worrying prematurely. 

Focusing on her stance-- feet apart, attention forward, and vibro-ax diagonal across her chest-- Rey ran through the intel on Solo one more time while awaiting the party’s arrival. She recalled the dated holo of his face and list of charges, searching again for a clue as to why Lord Vader wanted him. He was Force sensitive, sure, but Vader already had acolytes who were lethally trained. Perhaps he wanted more, but did that really warrant a bounty large enough to buy a prison barge? Maybe it was that he had intel on Luke Skywalker, but that was even less likely. Solo left the temple sixteen years ago; any information he had was out of date. The same went for information on his mother and father. Vader would do better to capture them personally. 

It must be something else, something that wasn’t in his file. Or rather, something that was, but was incomplete. The file was a shoddy, half done picture of an undeniably thrilling life. What was it, she wondered, that made him so special? 

She didn’t have time to ponder it further. Her thoughts were scattered by the thud of incoming boots, and in the dimming light of the artificial day cycle, she could see shadows reaching towards her from down the hall. Taking a few centering breaths, she corrected her posture and tightened her hold on her ax. She maintained her forward attention, even when the detail halted, until the warden cleared his throat. 

“Already posted, and so neatly. Professional as ever, R-2459. But, do please relax a moment. I’d like you to greet our… guest.” 

Rey’s mouth twitched. She didn’t like how Warden Kloth said the word. Really, she didn’t like that he was here. He was weak, no good in combat, though as a younger man he must’ve been, and liked more than anything else to twist his knife. He was a vicious and mean Imperial, responsible for more onboard deaths than rehabilitations. Already considering Solo her charge, she wanted the warden away from him. As she couldn’t order that, though, the best she could do was play along until Kloth left. 

She spun to face the group, intending to introduce herself. The words snagged in her chest when her attention fell on the man, though. He was-- well, she hadn’t been wrong in terms of height. That was a fixed measurement for which she had reference. What she couldn’t have imagined was how truly _massive_ he'd be. That the Troopers were able to bring him in at all was laughable. 

He stood a head taller than most of them, and if Rey hadn’t tilted her own back, she’d have only been at the level of his sturdy chest. His arms and thighs were thickly muscled, and how he stood suggested great core strength. Size aside, though, he looked surprisingly gentle. His hands were at ease, fingers curled in their bonds but not fisted, and his expression was almost playful. His dark eyes darted curiously, his plush mouth slightly parted, and his nose the handsome hallmark of his face. The holo hadn’t done his skin or moles justice; they were dark little starpoints against a snowy backdrop, framed by tumbles of black, soft hair he'd grown out since his last mugshot. It reached his shoulders now, and that wasn’t the only difference. The file would have to be updated to include a scar: one that cut a hard diagonal across his cheek and nose. Oddly, though, it didn’t make him look any older. If anything, it highlighted his boyishness. 

The warden cleared his throat again, this time more insistent, and Rey shook herself. She’d taken too long. 

“I’m R-2459,” she said stiffly. “I’ll be your guard for the duration of your imprisonment.” 

Ben’s brow furrowed at the sound of her voice, but otherwise he didn’t react much. He hummed, maybe in response, or maybe just in displeasure. Either way, with the introduction over, Warden Kloth carried on. 

“Your guard,” Bissley drawled, “is the pride of my suppression team, and better trained with that ax than most will ever be with a blaster. R-2459 will not hesitate to keep the general peace, regardless of what that means for your comfort, personally.” The man licked his thin lips, eyes narrowing on Ben as they sought out any sign of fear. “Have I made myself clear?” 

Solo paused his scan of the block to smirk down at the warden. 

“Clear as glass, Kloth. You going to lock me up now, or not?" 

Rey saw the guards on either side of Solo exchange looks. Very few people got away with nipping the warden’s heels. Kloth let it go, though, unwilling to bite the hook at minute one. He ordered the guards to take Solo into his cell, unbind his hands, then seal him in for the night. In the morning, the cell door would be synced to the block-wide mainframe. For now, though, it required manual arming. 

While they worked to settle Solo, Warden Kloth pulled Rey aside. Keeping his voice down, he reminded her that their directive was live delivery. 

“Don’t harm him any more than strictly necessary,” the man muttered. “If you must strike at all, be cautious. Don’t forget that his life is worth a dozen of yours.” 

It was probably worth a dozen of Warden Kloth’s, too. 

“Understood, Sir.” 

“Good. Be sure you’re here before his cell unlocks.” 

* * *

The first week was more awkward than Rey anticipated. Solo wasn’t as chatty as the inmates she was used to. He wasn’t rude, but he was distant, always seemed to be thinking. Her presence barely registered on his radar. He nodded to her each morning when she appeared outside his cell, and stayed by her side as they walked. He kept within her line of sight when it was meal or exercise time, and made enough noise while showering to ensure her he hadn’t snuck out. He was seemingly unconcerned with her either way, which would’ve been annoying if he wasn’t so well-behaved. Throughout the entire first week, she hadn’t had a reason to so much as pull a blade. 

By the end of it, she began wondering if he needed a guard at all. 

It wasn’t until he’d been under her observation for nearly two weeks that Ben began engaging her. 

“You’re a woman,” he said one morning, so suddenly that it startled her. 

She was waiting outside his cell for the lock to disengage. She’d arrived early, and by her guess they still had ten minutes. Ben sensed that too. He hadn’t even bothered to roll out of bed yet, and was stretched over his cot with his jaw resting on the heel of his hand. His eyes were on her, taking in her parade rest and weapon, which was balanced by the handle against her hip. 

“What?” she asked, uncertain if she'd really heard him. 

“You’re a woman,” he repeated. “Kloth didn’t say.” 

His voice, hoarse from disuse, was husky, and hearing it made her throat ache. 

“Should he have?” 

“Seems like something he'd want to bring up.” 

“Why?” 

“To discourage me from knocking your lights out.” 

Rey hadn’t thought of that. She was a Trooper, and Troopers, women or not, got hit. But, she had to admit, that Ben might be trying to decide if he _should_ hit her wasn’t a possibility she’d considered. He’d been such a model inmate that she was almost getting bored, and found herself hoping that he’d rattle the bars at least. Her pulse tripped at this new revelation. 

"You thinking about trying that?" 

Ben huffed a laugh. "Not a chance." 

"Because I'm a woman?" 

"Because of _that_." He nodded to her vibro-ax. "It gives you a six foot reach. You'd have me in the medbay for cranial bleeding before I got close." 

Knowing he wouldn’t see it, Rey allowed herself to smirk. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d split someone’s skull. 

“If you just came running like a tauntaun, but I thought Jedi were clever.” 

He laughed again. 

“You must not know any Jedi.” 

Before she could respond, the overhead lights in the block went live and a long, atonal alarm sounded through the hall. As it ran, each cell unlocked, their doors swinging open to let out each inmate. 

When his opened, Solo stood and didn’t speak again. 

* * *

“What’s your name?” he asked two standard days later. 

Again, Rey was surprised. His voice was smoother now, less scratchy, but still pleasantly rumbling. 

“My number is R-2459.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

It was just after the evening meal break. Not wanting to shower, Ben had asked her to bring him back to his cell for an early night. She’d done that, but as the locking mechanism was on a timer, she hadn’t been able to leave and end her own day early. Leaving his door cracked-- no point in closing it-- she watched him dress down then sink to the floor, crossing his legs as he peered up at her expectantly. 

Did he want her to sit? She wasn’t going to. She’d seen how he moved during exercise breaks. He was agile, and she’d have a hard time getting the jump if he decided to lunge while she was down. 

“A Trooper’s call number is their name.” 

The words tasted bitter. She didn’t believe that. She had a name, and always would. Ben didn’t look like he liked the answer, either. His brow furrowed, and he leaned closer. 

“Do you not remember it? I know some of you were taken young.” 

She swallowed, wondering how she could back out of the conversation. She couldn’t just leave, but she also didn’t want to bite. She didn’t mind that he was talking. It made her job far less boring. This line of questioning, though, could get uncomfortable quickly. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, for lack of anything better. 

“When you were taken, or what your name is?” 

“Either one.” 

He cocked his head, and then she felt it: something warm, like the press of fingers against her temple. She shuddered, raising her hand to the area but feeling only the plastoid shell of her helmet. Was something underneath it? No, that wasn’t possible. The lock was still engaged. Still, the sensation was undeniable. There was something nudging against her, working into her like a balm, gentle and smooth and soothing. She relaxed into the contact, for a moment not caring what was causing it. 

“You _do_ remember,” Ben muttered. “You just don’t want to tell me.” 

The words cut through the fog and she tensed, suddenly aware of the feeling's source. That look on his face, how he was crouched and leaning towards her. It was him. He was rifling through her mind. 

She recoiled from the cell like that could stop him. His entry was kinder than the cultists, but it still frightened her. What would he see inside her head? A way off the ship? Classified intel? She couldn’t let him. She needed him out. Centering herself, she focused on the crawl of his intrusion, clamping around it like fingers to be severed. She cleared her mind, thinking of nothing but a desert spotted with sinking pits, imagining how it'd be to watch him drown. Or no-- not him specifically, but the energy he sent out. She imagined the invasion was a wet, viscous blob tacking up with sand, being taken down deeper, swallowed by the earth, never claw back out again. 

Seconds later, he retreated. She felt him pull out and nearly gasped. Not from pain; he hadn’t hurt her like the cultists. But the loss was still a shock, and she shuddered, allowing herself several minutes to regain composure before glaring up. When she did, he was still crossed legged on the floor. He was leaning back against the edge of his cot now, though. His hands were clasped in his lap, his brow furrowed in newly sparked interest. 

“How did you do that?” 

Rey didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to. It was something she’d always done. Even if she could explain, though, she didn’t think would. She didn’t like what he’d done, and was annoyed with him. After a terse silence, Ben sighed. 

“You’re not going to tell me.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Rey shook her head anyway. Solo hummed, then shrugged as if he couldn’t care less. 

“If that’s how you want to be, but I think I’m starting to understand why Kloth really gave you this assignment.” 

Once again before she could answer, cell block security cut her off: this time with the lights going down and the doors locking up. Solo’s slammed between them, obscuring his figure with thick, heavy bars. 

“Good night, Trooper,” he said, like nothing at all had happened. 

For the first time since being conscripted, she was relieved not to hear her name. 

* * *

They didn’t speak again for a week. Rey because she was annoyed, and Solo-- well, she didn’t know why he was quiet. He watched her closely, seemingly in study, but whatever his observations were, he kept them to himself. As far as she could tell, he didn’t try to invade her mind again. He kept his distance, physically and mentally. It was a relief, and gave her time to work out her feelings on the assignment now that Solo had tested her defenses. 

He was bound to find out. That’s why she was chosen. Rey had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon though, and part of her was hoping that Ben wouldn't try at all. She wasn’t trained in mental evasion. It was something she could do, but only in the most basic sense. The man could likely have pushed through her feeble attempt and taken whatever he wanted. Why he hadn’t was a mystery; biding his time, she guessed. Maybe he was planning on feeling out her edges gradually, waiting to dig his fingers into the weakest break and plumb her for whatever he could before dropping her, leaving her out cold while he made an escape. 

It’s what he should do, what Rey would do in his position. He had to know why he’d been arrested and where they were going. She couldn’t hold it against him. He was just trying to win back his freedom. 

She just wished her mind weren’t blocking his path. 

* * *

He managed to steal a deck of cards and set of dice out from under Big Neesa, Block Jenth’s unofficial games coordinator. Between free hours, the stout Gungan guarded the games equipment jealously. Leisure items were hard to come by and even harder to replace. How Ben was able to swipe a whole Corellian Spike kit was beyond her. 

“Do you play?” he asked. 

It was the third time that day he’d started a conversation. The other two times were during meal breaks, and she hadn’t been responsive. She wasn't sure then if she was done being angry. Now, though, she found it difficult to be anything but impressed. 

“Sometimes,” she said, then amended. "Not for a while, though, and only standard sabacc." 

"I could teach you. It isn't hard." 

She snorted a laugh that her vocoder scrambled. 

"Something tells me you cheat." 

"That something is right." He started shuffling. "I could teach you that too, if you want." 

Rey gnawed her cheek, looking down at the man lounging on the dirty prison floor, shuffling stolen cards like a dealer in a gambler's den. He looked in his element, and it drew her mind back to life before conscription, to a night spent in a cantina. There'd been another man there, handsome and grinning, offering much the same: to teach her sabacc, which she'd wanted to more than anything. She’d also wanted to go home with him. 

"I'm on duty." 

He made a show of checking the time. 

"Only for a few more minutes. You could wait for the cell to lock, then have a seat. I wouldn’t be a flight risk, then." 

Rey grimaced. Was her worry really that obvious? 

"And what about the warden? You know he's watching. What do you think he'd say?" 

Ben cut the deck, not bothering to look at the camera she gestured towards with her vibro-ax. 

"I know what he'd say. His mind is weak, easy to read, and also-- if you were wondering-- exceptionally dull." 

The admission was explosive, but it was also hilarious. Rey failed to suppress a short laugh. She wondered how red Kloth would turn if he knew that his prize prisoner had been rooting around his skull. 

Encouraged by the sound, he began dealing out two hands. 

"Come on. It'll take 20 minutes. Then you can tell Kloth that you've honestly been keeping me comfortable." 

Kloth _had_ tasked her with Solo's life, not just with suppression. He was of the utmost importance to Lord Vader. Was it really so out of the question to entertain him? If it kept him from going pen crazy and trying to escape, surely it fell under her line of duty. Or maybe he was just good at talking, and Rey was being stupid. It was getting difficult to tell. 

As he finished dealing the cards, the overhead lights dimmed to night mode and the lockdown alarm blared from the speakers. His door slammed shut, sealing him in with coded beeps. When it was secure, he slid the hand he'd dealt her under the ledge. 

"Shift's over," he said, his smile showing teeth, which was charming, not that Rey would admit. "Come on. One hand. I'll show you how to cheat, and you can stop sulking about the other day." 

Her nose crinkled. "You mean when you invaded my mind?" 

"An attempt you parried. Good job, by the way." He fanned out his cards and began rearranging them. "Don't be stubborn. I know you want to play." 

Rey had half a mind to refuse and meet Nines in the gym instead. But this felt like clearing the air, and she really didn't mind him. Compared to her other guard details, this was nothing. Or at least, he was making it out to be. He hadn't broken out all thirteen previous times by being compliant. She was sure he had a trick up his sleeve somewhere. But just now, his cell was locked up tight. 

"If I say yes, will you stop pestering me?" 

He nodded. "Gentleman's honor." 

She snorted. No one on the _Purge_ was a gentleman, and least of all someone Vader would shell out for. 

"Fine," she relented. "But don't get used to it." 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Trooper.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey knows almost nothing about the Skywalker Family Drama and I think that’s very sexy of her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before we hit a sprint, y’all! Wanted to let Rey and Ben get used to each other before the action.

Ben Solo wasn’t meant to be on the _Purge_ for more than two months. By Rey’s calculations, it should’ve taken just under that to reach Mustafar. Setbacks were to be expected, of course; this was a prison barge, and certain delays were unavoidable. There were new prisoners to pick up, and every few weeks an exchange or trial took place that required them to dock. But those were minor inconveniences, rarely taking more than a day to resolve.

Having to backtrack towards Wild Space was far more serious.

“I don’t understand,” Rey said, eyes tracking over the holomap that Nines projected on their meal break. It showed the barge's progress, and the trajectory had flipped. Earlier that day, they were en route to Fortress Vader. “What’re we going backwards for?”

“Dunno.” The man shrugged before deactivating the projection. “You know how T-8576 is-- can’t get a real word out.”

“But he must’ve said _something_ else. Who told him about it?”

Rey dragged her fork over a tough slab of bantha meat, freeze dried months ago and reheated several times. She didn’t really want it. She’d have rather had protein slop. The fact that it’d never been real food made it more tolerable. Thinking about how the tasteless chunk on her plate now might’ve been cooked was enough to make her gut lurch. It was a waste of meat. The kitchen may as well have served something synthesized.

“No one.” Nines shrugged, spearing his whole portion of bantha meat. He brought it up and shredded some with his eyeteeth. “He was eavesdropping on some captains. Something about us picking up a distress signal.”

"Couldn't someone else respond? There's no way we're the closest ship."

But no, they had to be, she thought even as she said it. Very few Imperial ships came out this far. The Outer Rim was lawless, and there was little point in trying to maintain a stable military presence. Mustafar was the exception, but that was a personal fortress. Apart from the occasional blockade, only prison barges and special-ops teams frequented the region. Since the _Purge_ was already there and could attend to pick-ups, there was no reason for another barge to be.

"We must be,” Nines said, likely thinking the same. “Anyway, why do you care? Got somewhere to be?"

Rey rolled her eyes. He knew that she didn't. She hadn't set foot off the barge since coming aboard. She wasn't ranked enough to accrue shore leave, though she'd been hoping to start collecting hours soon. The promise of a Captain's puck was her motivation for successfully completing the current assignment. It was her ticket off the ship, hopefully for good.

"I just want to see my job done."

Nines laughed around the meat he was gnawing.

"Right, like it's been hard."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you serious?” When she only cocked her brow, Nines sighed and shook his head. “For starts: you've had zero altercations. That’s, what, five less than your weekly average? The bastard hasn't so much as looked at you sideways. And unless I'm wrong--" He paused to pick a ropy tendon from his teeth. "-- I saw you two playing cards the other night."

Rey didn't have an explanation for that. It was true. They'd played sabacc a lot recently. Solo gloated when he won, and it made her want to beat him. Unfortunately, she still wasn't very good.

"What's your point?"

"Just that maybe you shouldn't be in a rush. You lucked out. Enjoy the house cat while you can. At least you know he won’t bash your head in."

She _didn't_ know that. Ben had been docile so far, but the fact remained that he’d broken out thirteen times. She didn't trust him not to try again, and especially didn't if they were heading away from Mustafar. If he escaped near Wild Space, he'd be gone forever. Imperial barges never went there. It was too dangerous. That uncharted expanse of the universe was full of gravity whales, electrical storms, and treacherous debris belts. The worlds rumored to be there were just that: rumors. What laid beyond the border was relegated to legend. The warden wouldn’t risk chasing a prisoner into it, even one as valuable as Solo. He was greedy, but he wasn't an idiot. 

"I just want to get paid," she muttered, looking down at her plate. She jabbed the meat and the violent entry bent her fork. "The next one can put me in a three day coma, for all I care."

Nines snorted. “Careful what you wish for, ‘59.”

* * *

She watched Ben closely over the following days, trying to work out if the redirection was giving him ideas. It didn't seem to be-- he hadn't even commented on it, though there was no way he didn't know. It was the talk of the block. Within hours of the course change, gossip began trickling down. Everyone was speculating on what could’ve warranted a distress signal, and what an Imperial Star Destroyer was doing so near Wild Space in the first place. The common areas crawled with theories, but Solo didn't see interested in offering his own. He ate, exercised, and went about his business as usual. Or, almost as usual, anyway.

As the days stretched into a week, Solo began spending more time alone. He ventured into the public areas to eat, but did that quickly, then retreated into cell or the showers. While in the former, he mostly meditated, which was unbelievably boring to watch. The only highlight was that he sometimes hovered while doing so, but the novelty wore off soon enough. It was nothing more than a side effect, Rey decided, after several days of observation. That, or a superfluous display meant to impress her. If that was the case, it wasn’t working. 

As for the showers, she hadn’t thought much of them at first. Initially, she assumed they were out of boredom. With his cell quickly becoming the whole scope of Solo’s world, a trip to the showers could just be a change of scenery. As they burrowed deeper into space, however, and having the man out of sight made her increasingly anxious, Rey began to wonder if his affinity for the showers had anything to do with the fact that he was alone there. Truly alone, like he wasn’t anywhere else. During the day Rey was a constant shadow. 

What could be doing with those unsupervised chunks of time? Just what he said, potentially: scrubbing clean and enjoying the water. Or, more treacherously, he could be organizing an escape. 

Not wanting to risk it, Rey took to watching him shower. Or no, not watching; supervising. _Watching_ implied that she was a voyeur, which she wasn't. She was just being cautious. Keeping one foot in the door, she eyed his open top stall from a respectable ten foot distance. The duracrete booth came up to his hips, shielding his most vulnerable parts. His chest and stomach were exposed, but she'd seen plenty of those. It wasn’t lewd, she told herself. It was practical. It was her job.

"What are you getting out of this?" he asked one night.

His voice droned over the steady beat of water and Rey's throat cinched, part embarrassment and part indignation. 

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm just being thorough."

The man laughed and ran his fingers through his sopping hair. The motion sent a wave of water down his back. It splashed between his shoulder, flexed and strong and waiting.

"I meant, how much is Kloth paying you?"

_Oh_. She bit her cheek, and not for the first time was grateful for the protection of her helmet. Without it, her flush would’ve been unmistakable, and she didn’t like the idea of giving him ammunition.

"That’s a morbid question."

"Not really. I ask everyone. I like knowing what I'm worth."

By everyone, she assumed he meant those who arrested him. She wondered how long he usually waited, and if she was the first he'd asked while being peeped at from a doorway.

"The bounty itself is three billion," she admitted after a moment.

She told herself the delay was because she was deciding whether or not the information was classified. It certainly had nothing to do with how little streams of water teased the edges of his pert, dusky nipples.

Ben sputtered, looking genuinely surprised. 

" _Credits_?" He gave a long, slow whistle. "But, that's overall. What about your cut?"

She shrugged. "Couple thousand, if I'm lucky."

"You don't sound upset about that.”

"I'm not." 

She let her attention rest on his stomach, where his hands were scrubbing lazily. They formed a lather before plunging below the lip of the duracrete, and she tried not to think about what he was touching. As if he sensed the thought-- he probably did; smug bastard-- Solo leered at her. The motion slowed, mimicking a methodical stroke.

"So what's really in it for you?"

Her hand tightened reflexively around her ax’s handle, and the shift triggered a stray thought about girth.

"Promotion," she said stiffly. "A Captain's puck."

His arm stilled and the teasing tilt of his grin flattened. His attention narrowed; not unkindly, but the weight of his regard felt heavier. After a few moments, his brow smoothed and his hands dragged back up to scrub his chest. His gaze bore through her viewport as he massaged his shoulders.

"Shore leave too, I bet."

His tone was far too knowing, and Rey frowned.

"Hadn't thought about that."

"Haven't you?" His tone was incredulous, and to her horror, he winked before pressing on. "In any case, I've been sold for less."

A pith of shame hardened in her gut. Rey wanted to tell him he wasn't a thing to be sold, and that if she could get out from under the Empire without doing it, she wouldn’t be taking him to Vader. She didn’t have anything against him personally; in fact, she was starting to like him, if for nothing else than that he was so many things she used to dream about. He was free: had a family, cause, and a purpose. More than that, he had a connection with the Force. A connection so solid and real it warranted training, and how many nights had she laid up, fantasizing about that? As a girl she’d often fantasized about being found by a temple scout, being told that she’d been sensed and felt and seen. Of being told that she was someone worth saving and training. Of being someone special, like Ben Solo.

But she couldn’t say that. The seditious words could be used against her, so she beat down the spike of empathy.

"Why does Vader want you, anyway?"

"A few reasons," he said unhelpfully. "None of which you'd believe."

"Is it to do with your training under Luke Skywalker?"

He didn't look surprised that she knew the name. She'd referenced his file before.

"In some ways, but some are more complicated. It’s...a long story." 

He closed his eyes and stepped under the spray fully, letting the soap slough off as he washed his face. He scrubbed his bare hands over his jaw and cheeks, cleaning the patchy facial hair he’d grown while aboard. Rey waited until he was clear of the water to continue.

"In other words, you aren't going to tell me."

He blinked the water from his eyes before turning to face her. He leaned against the duracrete stall, letting the water beat his back.

"No, and trust me, you don't want me to. It's a sad story, too."

"For who?”

"Everyone.” He rolled his shoulders to catch the spray. “Vader included. The less you know about it, the better.”

She wasn’t sure if that was true, or if it was just something he was saying to shut her up. Regardless, she didn't get any more out of him. 

He finished his shower in a strange, thoughtful silence.

* * *

Nines kept her up-to-date on the ship’s progress via the holoprojector. She, in turn, kept Solo up-to-date, not that he out-right asked. As the days dragged on, he hardly even spoke. He reverted to the reserved, reclusive state that he’d been in during his first week aboard. The rapid deterioration was unnerving, so much so that she began to wonder if he was getting sick.

The last day before they were set to reach the stranded Star Destroyer, the man didn’t even leave his cell to eat. When she came to collect him, he was already awake and meditating and refused to acknowledge her presence. He didn’t respond when she called his name or banged her vibro-ax against the bars. He also didn’t stir when the cell disengaged its lockdown. He kept his eyes closed, breathed rhythmically, and bobbed several feet above the floor.

It was the dullest day Rey had had in awhile. She hadn’t realized how used she’d gotten to Ben’s bright mood, or the almost casual banter he lobbed at her throughout the day. With it gone, she thought she missed it. Ridiculous, of course. Solo wasn’t her friend, and in a few weeks he’d be gone. There was no sense in getting used to him. Still, she had done, and the break in his pattern made her anxious. 

It wasn’t until the end of her shift that he sank from where he hovered to the cell floor. By that time, nearly eight hours had passed, and she’d given into stiffness and sat. Her back was against the opposite wall, ax at her side in case he bolted. She tightened her grip on it at the change in position, but didn’t rise. No point yet. He still wasn’t looking at her.

“How long until we reach the distress signal’s point of origin?” he asked when the lights began to dim.

Rey could’ve wept in relief. It was the first thing he’d said all day, and she’d been in serious danger of falling asleep.

Clearing her throat, she tapped the comm panel on her wrist. It displayed the time, and she counted back to when she’d last seen Nines. The two of them had viewed the holoprojector over breakfast, and provided the _Purge_ hadn’t deviated:

“About five hours.”

If all went well, the _Purge_ would reach the coordinates during the upcoming sleep cycle. Whatever the other ship needed-- repairs, refueling, or an emergency offload-- would hopefully be underway by the time she woke. Assuming nothing overly complex had gone wrong, they could be back on course within days. If it had, Warden Kloth would have to send out a call himself. In that case, who knew how long they’d be delayed.

Ben hummed, the slowly-- allowing Rey time to rise with him-- clamored to his feet in the cell. He stood stiffly, legs bloodless after so long spent hovering.

"When you leave me, how much free time do you have?"

It was an odd question, but Rey couldn't think of a reason to dodge it.

"It's all free. I have a pre-bed routine, but--"

"But, theoretically, you could go wherever you wanted."

"Within reason." Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Solo dug one of his snaggle teeth into his lip. The skin was chapped, and it broke under pressure. A little blood beaded up and he swiped it with his tongue.

"I'm considering doing something I shouldn't."

She tensed, and was glad to be on her feet. Did he mean making a break? Why would he tell her that? Making a show of widening her stance, she half raised her vibro-ax.

"Yea? What's that?"

"Helping you."

That wasn't the answer she expected, and it must've shown in how her body slacked.

"Help me how?"

"By giving you very specific instructions."

She faltered. Was this some kind of joke? Solo had a strange sense of humor, but usually he gave himself away. His unreadable sabacc face only came into play during card games. When he was being funny, he didn't see it through. His eyes tended to crinkle in self-amusement, but just now, he wasn't smiling. His expression was serious, and something about that made Rey's neck prickle with sweat.

"I'm considering telling you to go to the medbay." The words were measured, as though he was still deciding. "Considering telling you to get an emergency air scrubber to double filter the ports of your helmet."

The prickle at her hairline sharpened to a sting. Trooper helmets had primary scrubbers already. Secondary emergency ones were typically reserved for toxic missions: raids on worlds so rank with pollution that your lungs would shrivel. Why would she need a double-filter on her home ship? Unless...but no, how could he? Ben had hardly been out of sight, and he'd been searched before coming aboard. There was no way he'd sneaked a toxin in.

"Are you also considering telling me why?"

Her own voice wasn't as even as his. She felt unbalanced. If he was joking, it wasn't funny.

"No," he said. "You'd have to take it on faith."

"And if I refused?"

"That'd be your choice.” He paused, chewing at the raw spot on his lip. “But I'd rather you didn't."

"Why?"

"Because I'm starting to like you." He stepped forward cautiously, eyes on her helmet's viewport. He didn't even glance down at her weapon, though she'd turned it edge out to keep distance between them. "Because you're not an Imperial. You're a prisoner. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She didn't. Not really. He wasn't making sense, and that paired with his approach put her on edge. She glanced down the hall, hoping for back-up in case the man decided to use their proximity to lunge. But, no dice. They were alone. Most cells weren't even occupied yet, not that she could've counted on inmates to help. If Solo bucked, she'd have to drag him back alone. And could she do it? Now that she thought about it seriously, she wasn't sure she could. Her ax had never been tested against a trained Force user. Would it really be enough to bring him down?

She thought of a phrase from his file-- _exceedingly dangerous_ \-- and how whoever wrote it was careful not to mention casualties. His escapes were only ever "costly inconveniences", but knowing what she did of Trooper expendability, she could guess what it meant.

"I could report what you just said to the warden, you know. It's not much, but he'd probably find it interesting."

It was an empty threat. Rey never ratted inmates out. Not to her fellow Troopers, and certainly not to Kloth. It'd be a death sentence for them in most cases, and though Ben was less likely to be hurt, she still couldn't stomach it. Maintaining order was her job, and if she couldn't do it, it wasn't anyone else’s fault.

"You could," he allowed. "But I'm going out on a limb here, so do me a favor: go out on one yourself." He stepped back, and the sudden distance highlighted how close they'd been. "Think of it as a trust exercise. What’s the worst that could happen? You breath _too_ well?”

Rey couldn't think of an answer. She was hyper focused on her ax. The handle and back blade were pressed against her chest plate. Ben had backed the weapon into her. She could see the crease the edge of it cut into the front of his uniform. A couple more steps and he'd have been bleeding through it.

"Think about it at least," he said when she didn't respond. 

His voice was still calm, and his expression had softened. The seriousness was gone, replaced by something almost pleading. The sight of it unbalanced her as much as the strange request.

"I'll think about it," she said, lowering her ax fractionally, "if you think about taking a few more steps back."

He raised his hands in surrender, already walking backwards towards his cot.

"My mistake. I know you like your space."

* * *

Ben didn't bring it up again, and when his cell locked that night, he took out his card deck as usual. He invited her to play a round before retiring, and Rey, used to the routine, accepted. Their short game diffused the tension he'd stoked. By the end of it, she'd almost forgotten the conversation. 

Almost, but not quite. While he didn't say anything more, she kept catching him eyeing her breather ports. 

She didn't confirm her intentions either way, but after saying good night, she took a turbolift to the medbay. On the ride she commed Nines, interrupting his gym session for a status check on his own air scrubber.

"All good," he said, panting from exertion. "Why? Was there a recall?"

"No," she assured, feeling ridiculous. This was probably a wild blurrg chase, and Solo was having a laugh thinking of her head going in circles. "Mine’s shot, and I'm on the way to pick up a new one. I was going to grab you a spare if you needed."

She heard the rhythmic glug of a water bottle being drained, and seconds later, Nines groaned.

"Not necessary. Thanks, though. Am I seeing you tonight?”

"Probably not, but I’ll see you at breakfast, alright?"

The man affirmed then cut his comm, and she did the same. The door of her lift opened as she was pocketing it, and she stepped out and took the side hall to the medbay. 

When she neared the laboratory and it's adjoining suites, Rey could see the blast doors were open. A soft yellow light flooded out from deep inside, the gentle color meant to soothe incoming patients. It worked. As Rey passed from the hall into the medbay, she felt the last of her tension drain. Here it was quiet, warm, and safe, and whatever she needed was only steps away. 

Dr Zahara Cody was busy with a patient-- a Twi'lek inmate with a deeply gashed lek-- but her assistant medical droid, affectionately dubbed "Waste", greeted her in the doctor's stead. Waste filled her request for a secondary scrubber, and even offered to install the piece itself. Unfamiliar with the process, Rey removed her helmet and allowed it, thanking the droid when it was finished.

"I've never had to do it myself." She tilted her helmet to examine how it attached. She could see the piece buried deep in the breather port. "I probably would've smashed it."

"It's better to ask for assistance," Waste said, it's words muddied by the whirr of its cogs. "Secondary scrubbers are a last line of defense. Without them, one could die within minutes."

Rey grimaced. She didn't want to think about that. She'd only just convinced herself Solo was bluffing. And he was. He had to be. This was a game meant to rattle her, and like a wide-eyed new recruit, she'd fallen for it.

"Anyway, thanks again." She slipped back into her helmet and activated the viewport. "Tell Dr Cody not to work too hard. It's not just her patients that need to sleep." 

It took half an hour to reach her room. The _Purge_ was expansive, and though the barracks were in the same quadrant as the medbay, getting there required toggling several turbolifts. By the time she swiped her keycard, both of her bunkmates were already in bed. One was asleep and the other curled up reading something on her datapad. That one, R-6773, didn't look up to greet her. Well, that was fine. Rey didn't feel like talking. It'd been a long day, and more stressful than she'd been prepared for. She needed to decompress, so she grabbed a towel and disappeared into their shared bathroom.

It was small, no more than three steps between the door and shower stall into which a sink and toilet were also crammed. It was an uncomfortable arrangement, but she took comfort in the fact that it wouldn't be her problem much longer. Once promoted, she'd have her own suite and a larger, more functional bathroom. It'd be nice, for however long it lasted. She wasn't sure how long it'd take to build up shore leave sufficient enough to stage a disappearance, but while she waited, there wasn't any harm in enjoying the spoils of good work.

_Good work_. She spat into the drain. That was certainly one way of seeing things. But not Solo's way, probably, and not even her own. That the man's freedom had to be traded for her's was unfortunate. In better circumstances they probably could've gotten along. Maybe, in another life, they could've even been friends. He was charming enough, and truth be told, Rey would’ve preferred getting promoted another way. But who knew how long that would've taken. She wasn't on track for one before this. Prior to Solo's arrest, she was useful but stationary. It likely would've taken her years to work up to captain. It wasn't fair for him, but it was happening, and she wouldn't turn her nose up. Besides, if Solo was as good as his file suggested, he could get himself off Mustafar.

Focusing on that slim but enticing possibility, Rey hurried through her shower. She scrubbed her hair and briefly massaged her aching muscles, but didn’t allow herself to linger under the spray. It was dangerous there. Over the last few days, she'd caught herself thinking back to Solo's shower. Wondering if the water had felt this good on his skin, and if the ache in her nipples matched the one in his own.

It'd been awhile since she'd bedded anyone. She didn't get shore leave, so off-barge lovers were impossible, and every corner of the _Purge_ was so heavily monitored that sneaking even a kiss wouldn't go unnoticed. There were strict penalties in place for fraternization, none of which were worth the effort. Rey had long since stopped bothering to even consider the possibility. Since Solo had come on board, though, the thoughts began creeping back.

Not serious ones, of course. It wouldn’t be ethical, even if they could carve out time. Their positions were unbalanced, and her power over him would edge the act on criminal. If she approached him with interest and he agreed, there'd be no way for her to know if it was out of desire or fear. That uncertainty would make for something ugly and mean; Rey wouldn't dare touch him under such circumstances. Alone in her shower, though, she could think about it. Think of how his chest would feel under her palms, how his spit would taste, and how deliciously it'd ache to have him fully seat in a single thrust.

Abandoning the fantasy before it could overpower her, Rey shut off the shower and forced herself to leave the stall. Ignoring the throb between her legs, she dried off and dressed before padding to her bed. By then her other bunkmate had fallen asleep, and both women were lightly snoring. All the lights had been cut, but Rey didn't need them. She'd made the walk a thousand times.

Navigating around pairs of discarded boots, she eased herself into bed. She tucked in, keeping her hands on top of the blankets to prevent a stray touch from stoking her need. She wasn't alone enough to masturbate. In the morning, maybe, or if she returned early enough tomorrow night. 

For now, she'd just have to even her breathing and lull to sleep, hoping not to dream of Ben Solo.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again! And this time we're kicking it into high gear.

The schedule modification message that Rey awoke to was the first indication that something was wrong. At the time she couldn't guess what-- she was half asleep still, her mind sluggish-- but receiving it put her on a low alert.

_Until further notice, all blocks are in lockdown. Inmates are to be tended by droids as needed. All those assigned to Gen Pop control or personal guard duty should default to secondary scheduling._

Rey blinked at the message and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before rereading it a second, then a third, time. Total lockdown was rare; exceedingly so. In her time aboard the _Purge_ it had only happened once, and that had been when the barge breached a warzone. It’d taken several hits and had its hull blown wide open. Lockdown had been necessary to ensure inmate safety. What the reason could be now, though, she couldn’t say. As far as she knew, there wasn’t another ship within billions of miles. Not one that could fire on them, anyway.

"Are you seeing this?" she called to the room at large.

The other beds were empty, but the bathroom light was on. She’d been hoping one of her bunkmates was locked inside. Neither of their voices came in answer, though. Rey sat in silence for a few moments, straining her ears for sounds of a shower or sink. Nothing. It was still, and she cussed before locking her datapad’s screen and tossing it aside. Reaching across the bed, she groped her nightstand for her commlink. Once in hand, she punched in Nines’ code. It flashed as active and she hailed him with a little ping. Seconds later he pinged back and she activated her mic.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep. She cleared her throat before continuing. “I know it’s early.”

“Not at breakfast already are you?” he asked, not sounding much better. “My alarm just now went off.”

She shook her head, forgetting he wouldn’t see it. “You checked your datapad yet?”

“No. Why?”

“Give it a look.”

She heard the click of his mic deactivating, and for several minutes she was left alone. Rey used to the time to stretch, kick off the covers, and bring the room’s lights up. They scaled to half power at her command, casting the room in a clinical glow. The lights here weren’t like the medbay. They were hard white, almost blue, and even at half power strained her weary eyes. She didn’t scale them down, though. She needed to get going, and it’d be easier with the light as high as she could stand.

She was tugging on her tactical leggings when Nines pinged again. His voice came muffled through the blankets she’d left the commlink nestled in.

“That’s weird,” he agreed. “Bet it’s a security measure, though.”

“What do you mean?”

She slipped into a fresh tank and tucked it into the band of her leggings, then dug through her dresser for a long shirt to pad her armor. The plastoid shell chafed bare skin, creating a raw, uncomfortable rash that lingered for days. It wasn’t something they told you when you first arrived for training; hazing, probably, or maybe just oversight. Regardless, Rey only made the mistake once. Sweating was preferable to the alternative.

“We’re under the Destroyer. Can’t you hear it?”

Rey tried, but there was nothing to hear. The room was quiet, devoid of even the ever present hum of the-- oh. The engines. They were off. 

She didn’t hear or feel their rumble beneath her feet. And wasn’t that strange? She’d gotten used to the rattle. It felt like they hadn’t stopped running in months. Even when they’d picked up Solo, helm control only put them in idle. Firing up the engines wasted more fuel than stalling, usually. That they’d been powered down entirely must mean Kloth expected this to take a while. Bad news, in Rey’s opinion. She wanted to be back en route.

“Yea, I hear it.” She could also hear her own disappointment, but hoped Nines wouldn’t comment. “Wonder how long its been since we made contact.”

“Couldn’t say.” The man yawned, and the sound blew like static through the feed. “But whenever it was, we’d have had to send up a boarding party, which means--”

“Security is compromised."

She imagined the long boarding ladder connecting the two ships like a cord. It was an open line of transfer, and would stay locked in place until whatever was going on was resolved.

“Exactly. Can’t have your cat sneaking out, can we?”

She snorted. “He wouldn’t get that far.”

He might try it, though. Any inmate would. Star Destroyers were usually carrying smaller craft, and if you got lucky, if you timed it right, stealing one would be a ticket out. Many of the prisoners, Solo included, had a record of commandeering ships. The lockdown made sense, then; it was just a precaution. Comming Nines had been a good idea.

“Sorry for the call,” she apologized again.

“Don’t be. Was getting up, anyway.” Something rustled on his end of the line, and Rey imagined he was swinging his legs out of bed. “We still meeting for breakfast? I know you got a head start.”

“I can stall. Is half an hour good?”

He confirmed, and then his mic was cut again. Seconds later, the line burst with static. Dead air fed through the closed circuit of Rey's link, and she shut it off before strapping into her plastoid armor. Finishing dressing only took a few minutes; emergency drills had lent her speed, and by the time she was ready to don her helmet, there were still several minutes left before she needed to leave. Not wanting to arrive too early, she took up her datapad again and reviewed her backup schedule. 

Without guard duty, personal or otherwise, it seemed she was to default to patrolling Quadrant Medbay. Reading that, Rey was glad she'd checked. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done anything but population control. Her close combatant skills made her a waste anywhere else. In present circumstances, though, there was nothing for it. And, all considered, there were worse Quadrants on the _Purge_ to be given a last minute assignment in. 

Wondering where Nines would be, she shut down her pad and laid it carefully on her pillow. She could ask at breakfast, she supposed, and hoped the answer would be Quadrant Medbay. 

Monitoring patients alone would even duller than watching Solo meditate.

* * *

The second indication came three standard hours later, and was far more difficult to rationalize. By then, Rey was on her second circuit of the quadrant, and from the lift port terminal heard the PA system go live. It spat static for several seconds, a by-product of interference that bled out from the edge of Wild Space. When the line settled, the mechanical voice of Waste came through.

"Members of the _Vector_ boarding party who have not yet reported to the medbay should do so. By order of Dr Cody and Warden Kloth, a full examination is mandatory. Non-compliance will result in disciplinary action. Repeat: non-compliance will result in disciplinary action."

The announcement cut out, followed by another wave of static so sharp that Rey felt it in her gums. The noise put her on edge, and Waste's announcement didn’t help. What would the boarders need a physical for? The party had breached a Star Destroyer, not a hostile zone. She couldn't imagine what was up there that required a medbay visit. Unless-- had the Destroyer been boarded before they arrived? Were there enemy troops aboard the downed vessel? That was possible, she supposed. Depending on the nature of the _Vector’s_ emergency, its ability to prevent hostile boarding could’ve been hindered, and if others were up there, it stood to reason they would’ve attacked.

That couldn’t be it, though, she decided after several frantic seconds of regrouping. Boarding had begun over six hours ago. An enemy presence would’ve been noticed sooner. Once the threat was identified, the whole ship would’ve been alerted. She and her fellow Troopers would be on the offensive, not walking the halls. It had to be something else, then.

She thought back through what had been her day so far and tried picking it apart for clues. What had she seen? What was different? Unfortunately, nothing struck her as unusual. Apart from the schedule modification, it was a standard day. The mess was raucous and packed, with the exception of those in the boarding party, and none of the ranked officers seemed anxious. There were, Rey remembered, a dozen or so sick Troopers, but that wasn't out of the norm. The various species and the exotic homeworld diseases they carried often left the Gen Pop Troopers ill. That some had developed a thick, viscous cough overnight didn't seem as anything worth noting.

Hours later, she'd think back on that assessment in horror. For the present, however, she forgot it.

* * *

The unforgiving nature of life on Jakku had taught Rey that wellness wasn't a guarantee. The deaths of her parents had been her first exposure to that lesson, and as the years went on, the losses continued to stack. Friends, junking buddies, and whole pockets of neighbors were taken down by starvation and violent crime. Her whole life prior to conscription was pockmarked with death and heartache, and that she'd survived herself came down to nothing but luck.

Her time at the training facility reinforced the lesson. Her instructors, and Captain Alecha especially, made no secret of the fact that Trooper morbidity rates were high. It was their duty to fight and die for the Emperor, and outliving one's prime combat years was often seen as a scandal: a sign of cowardice, of not throwing oneself fully into a fight. Rey was as expendable now as she'd ever been as a girl. She knew that; knew it was true of all of them. It was true of Nines and her bunkmakes, all her captains and fellow combatants, of everyone stuck in a shell of plastoid armor. They were meant to die, be replaced, and then forgotten.

That was in battle, though. She never expected to happen in friendly territory.

What started as a scattered dozen respiratory cases that morning were, by the afternoon, and epidemic. The halls, PA system, and personal commlinks echoed with the wet hacking of active infection. Troopers, usually forbidden from removing their helmets while on duty, tossed them aside in the hopes of drawing free, clean air. It did no good, though. Their breathing was just as labored without the constriction, and the sounds of their coughing all the more violent.

It was disgusting, Rey thought as she passed yet another group stumbling toward the medbay. Their faces were pale, nearing green, their necks mottling with bruises that seemed to shift beneath the net of their skin. 

That was a trick of the light, probably, paired with the violence of the cough, which grew to wrack the sufferers’ entire bodies. Still, she hated to see it. It reminded her of the wriggling sand worms that used to burrow up and bite her as a girl. The amorphous bruising wasn't the worst of what she saw, however, and the cough, unfortunately, not the worst she heard. As the hours stretched, and the hall leading to the medbay swelled with patients, the symptoms compounded. The coughs filled with blood and black, chunky fluid; dying tissue, maybe, or some by-product of infection. Whichever it was, the Troopers began to choke on it. 

She did her best to stay clear of the medbay's entrance once that started. There was no point in trying to get close, anyway. The nest of bodies waiting for treatment only thickened, tangling together, making it impossible to pass. It was pitiful and rank; even through her breather ports she could smell the stink of purged, infected fluids. It made her pulse thump, and under her armor she felt herself sweating. 

Whatever this was, it was worse than they'd seen in a while.

At one point during her circuit, Rey pulled out her commlink and tried to ping the medbay. She didn't know why; she knew it was busy. She could hear the pained groans and slimy coughs of various staff even from there. She could smell them, too: the mix of their sweat, panic and bile. It made her gag inside her helmet, but she didn't remove it. She knew enough about respiratory sickness to guess that exposure would put her at risk. This quadrant's air likely swam with infected particles, and she wanted to minimize her risk as much as possible.

After several minutes of waiting, she pinged Nines' comm instead, but was met with no response from him either. She cussed, stuffing the useless link back into her pocket. Well, there was more than one way to find out what she wanted. If neither Dr Cody or Nines could take calls, she'd have to pay a visit to this quadrant's monitor room. It was close, and the view screens there would show her what was happening wherever she wanted.

Slipping down a service hall to avoid the hacking, miserable foot traffic, Rey cut her path. She dodged sweating Troopers and heaving officers and within minutes found the door to the monitor room. It was open when she approached, which was odd; usually it was armed, even with a soldier on duty inside. Upon entering, however, it became clear why the blast door was open. 

The post had been abandoned mid-shift. 

The Trooper left recently, if the freshly spewed bile was any indication. The keypads were slick, and fleshy hunks clung to the face of the main monitor screen. Rey gagged and felt a fresh batch of sweat roll down her sides. Reminding herself that she couldn't remove her helmet, even for a moment, she swallowed the urge to vomit and took deep, shaking breaths. When she was calm, she approached the sticky keypad and tapped in the room code for the medbay, ignoring the sound of her gloves tacking to the keys.

The view through the medbay's surveillance cameras flickered onto screen, followed shortly by the chaotic sounds of illness. Through the feed, Rey could see every bed was full, and that towels and mats had been laid on the floor to accommodate more. It wasn't enough, though. More Troopers were stumbling into the overcrowded medbay, gagging and sobbing for help. Their miserable voices joined the wave of the ones already being tended by Waste and what Rey could only assume was Dr Cody. It was difficult to tell, covered as the person was in a full body containment suit. It'd been a good idea to put it on, Rey thought. The fluids smearing it would've made the doctor ill.

The two medical personnel did their best to reach each patient, but it was clear they were understaffed. Vital sign monitors blared in panic at every station, signalling heart drops and the onset of seizures. The horrible sound came in rounds, faster than either droid or woman could quiet the previous wave. The patients were dying, Rey realized. Horribly, and en mass. Her eyes darted between beds, makeshift cots, and what looked to be the original quarantine bubble, presumably for the _Vector's_ boarding party. No matter where she looked, men and women were convulsing and dropping, dark leaks of fluid pooling from their slack, dead mouths.

The hand that reached for her comm didn't feel like her own. It was numb, the fingers stiff and unresponsive. She could feel the unsteady thump of a pulse in the wrist, and though it mirrored the one in her chest, she couldn't believe it. It was a wild, cowardly rhythm, one that threatened to keep her from her duty.

She wouldn't let it. She pinged the medbay one more time.

When no answer came, she gave up pinging and called through the open channel instead.

"Dr Cody," she said, her voice shaking but loud, hoping to be heard over the chaos. "This is R-2459, your patroller. Do you need assistance?"

Rey saw Dr Cody turn toward her desk, where her commlink must've been. She also saw the woman turn just as quickly back to her patient, apparently intending to ignore the call. Rey wouldn't allow that, though.

"Dr Cody,” she repeated, “do you need me to come to you?"

"No!" The woman shouted, so forcefully that the comm picked it up even feet away. Rey started, nearly dropping her link in response, but regrouped as the doctor continued. "This is a quarantine zone. Unless you're experiencing symptoms, you're being denied entrance. Do you understand me?"

Rey didn't answer immediately. The harsh tone was unlike Dr Cody, as was her frantic run around the room. She was usually so collected, so sure of herself and her methods. Who Rey saw through the screen now looked possessed.

"Do you understand?" she yelled again, and Rey must've said yes. "Good, now get out of this quadrant."

The woman barked something to Waste, and the droid abandoned its post to take the commlink from her desk. Rey watched it turn the device off on the monitor, and when dead air hit her line, she cussed and put her own away.

Not wanting to watch the avalanche of death play out any longer, Rey entered another code and began flicking through other quadrants. They weren't any better. Their halls were filled with downed Troopers, heaving and crying and losing blood from the mouth. She thought of Nines then, how odd it was that he hadn't answered, and-- no. She couldn't think like that. Nines never got sick, not even when all of his bunkmates did. He was just busy helping people get to the medbay. Everyone who she needed to be safe, was. They had to be.

The thought triggered a flash of Solo's snaggle tooth grin, and she felt herself blanche. How had she _forgotten_? He was her responsibility, and he was currently in lockdown, unable to escape air that seemed to have gone septic. But, then again, maybe lockdown had been a blessing. Only droids were on block patrol, which meant it was possible that whatever was going around hadn't reached the inmates yet. 

Hoping for that, Rey punched in the code for Block Jenth. It brought her the view and audio of the long hall, beginning at the lifter ports.

Her chest tightened. It wasn't safe there, either.

Though Block Jenth was relatively underpopulated, it rang with the miserable cries of sickness. The prisoners were retching, rattling their bars and-- if they had the energy-- calling for Dr Cody. The droids were unresponsive, avoiding the pale, weak hands reaching through the bars for them. A few of those hands, Rey noted, had gone limp, resting in splatter zones of blood on the floor. 

She couldn't see Solo's cell. It was too far down, and even if he were closer, she didn't think it would help. Any sound he might've made would've been swallowed up in chaos, and his hands would've been impossible to identify. There was no way from the monitor room to know if he was sick, or what sort of help he needed to stay alive. And she wanted him alive, desperately and totally. Not just because of the bounty; kriff the bounty, actually. Kloth could keep every last nugget of it. She just didn't want to have to scrape up Ben Solo’s corpse. He didn’t deserve to die here. He didn’t deserve to die at all.

She had to get to him and get him out somehow. 

She couldn’t override the cell’s lockdown, unfortunately; those kinds of codes weren’t given out to low level Troopers. Maybe, though, if she targeted the mechanism with her vibro-ax, she could short it out long enough to break him free. And then-- well. She wasn’t sure what then, but they could address that once he was out. 

If she could get him out. If he wasn’t infected already.

She tried not to think of either of those possibilities as she ran from the room.

* * *

Solo was on her side of the bars when she skidded to a halt in front of his cell. He gaped, looking as shocked as she felt, and neither spoke for several agonizing minutes. Ben likely because he hadn’t expected Rey to risk violating total lockdown to show herself.

Rey because, after the bald relief of finding him unaffected faded, she was working through an unrelenting wave of realizations.

First, that Ben Solo was on _her_ side of the bars. He was free, and she couldn’t guess how. The door to his cell was still clamped, and didn’t appear to have been tampered with in any way. The bars weren’t damaged and neither was the keypad. The red light indicating it was still in lockdown blinked over his head, backlighting his hair like a halo. No, like a warning. Like something she’d thought weeks ago, and shouldn’t have allowed herself to forget: that he was an escape artist, physically massive, and a _Jedi._

He hadn’t been captured. He’d been escorted. Kloth was just too much of an idiot to realize, and Rey had allowed herself to slip.

Reeling from that, her breath came ragged enough to catch in her doubled up respirators. The sound was more alien for feeding through the second scrubber, and then--

He’d warned her. He’d _known_.

Rey’s hands were numb again, tight as stone around her ax. Her breathing made a jagged noise, and she saw him tense. Was he afraid? She hoped so. If she was right, he deserved to be, and just then she couldn’t see another explanation. 

“You did this,” she hissed, mouth filling up with spit as she thought of the men she’d watched seize in the medbay. 

He shook his head, tried stepping forward to get his back off the bars.

“I’m swearing to you that I didn’t.”

“ _Liar_.”

Her voice cracked around the accusation, pitching above the dying whimpers of inmates. The sound of their pain made her dizzy. Before she could talk herself down, she heaved her ax and took a swing at the man in front of her. 

He was quick; too quick to not have been in her head, or maybe her plan was just that obvious. Neither would surprise her. Rey felt unhinged and unfocused. Anyone with a modicum of skill probably could’ve blocked her. His hands shot up, catching the handle to break its momentum. It still knocked him back, but it ruined her shot. Instead of catching him with the back of the blade and dropping him cold, the handle, backed by her full weight, crushed his chest. It pinned him to the bars without much secondary damage.

Grunting in frustration, Rey tried to wrestle the ax back. Unfortunately, the man was strong. His grip was sure, knuckles white around the handle; she couldn’t have pried it free with the help of _three_ other Troopers. The fact ratcheted up her anger and she screamed, wordless and furious, before accusing him a second time.

“Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t,” he grunted, winded from the blow of her ax.

“Don’t,” she spat. “Don’t you dare. I know that you knew. You kriffing _warned_ me!”

And why had he done that? It was a simpering, childish question.

“I did.” He grit his teeth and adjusted his hold, trying to ease the pressure off his chest. “But knowing and being responsible aren't the same thing. Will you listen to me, please?”

“Why should I?”

Not wanting to give him more ground, Rey rested her full weight against the ax handle. It thumped back against his chest and he cussed through clenched teeth.

“There are more civilians than Imps on this ship. Why would I risk them?” He breathed shallowly and tried to ease her off again. The angle was bad, though, and his arms seemed stuck. “You read my file. You know I’m not a terrorist.”

One of those things was true. She had read his file. The second, though, she wasn’t sure about. All of Solo’s immediate family were responsible for high profile, violent strikes against the Empire. Attacking the _Purge_ would be in keeping with the trend, civilian presence be damned. This was a war, a long one that had chewed and spat back billions of lives. Each side was getting desperate for results. If they could get them, why should collateral damage matter?

But did she really believe that about Ben? He’d been-- not kind, exactly, but he hadn’t been hostile. He wasn’t even really being hostile now. She hadn’t felt him try to pry open her mind to distract her, and he hadn’t kicked her legs out, despite being in range. He was allowing her to pin him and vent her anger, which begged more questions than she had time for.

“How?”

His brow furrowed. “How what?”

“How’d you know? If you didn’t cause this--” She jerked her head down the hall, drawing the man’s attention to the sickening slosh of fluid. “--how did you know it was going to happen?”

That was her only check, and she hoped that he either couldn’t dodge it, or could do so so smoothly she had no choice but to believe him. The latter would be preferable. She didn’t want him to be a killer. Not of helpless civilians, anyway.

“Can I breathe? Please?” He wriggled his fingers under the handle. “Hard to think when you’re seeing spots.”

Rey considered pressing in harder, but resisted. She gave a curt nod then tugged back on her ax. It came free this time, smacking back against her own shoulders.

“I’m giving you three minutes,” she grunted. “Make them count.”

Ben chuckled dryly and gave a half-cocked salute while rubbing his off hand against his chest. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Two minutes, forty,” she countered.

“Alright, alright. You’re right. Bad time to joke.” He took a few deep breaths before pushing off the bars, rolling his shoulders to ease the ache. “Look, I can’t tell you everything. There isn’t time.”

“So hit the highlights, and make them good.”

Or she’d start a fight, she didn’t say, but the way his eyes cut to her ax let her know he caught the drift.

“I knew,” Ben began, “because a few reliable sources cross-corroborated something Luke Skywalker sensed.”

“Sensed,” she said flatly. “What, like, in a vision?” 

He couldn’t be serious. Except, _Stars_ , of course he was. The man was nodding before she even had time to scoff.

“A fragmented one,” he hedged. “I wasn’t keen on following up, but--” He paused to shrug. “I was outvoted, obviously. So, we allowed ourselves to captured by the ship closest to the source. Sorry; it’s not anything personal.”

Rey was dimly aware of the fact that he’d said _we_ , but she chose to gloss over it for now.

“Source of what?” she asked instead.

“What do you think?” As if on cue, a new wave of groans bubbled up. This one was fainter, as though life in the cells was thinning out. “I know you noticed,” he teased, mimicking her earlier accusation. “I’ll probably have a bruise to prove it.”

She grit her teeth, wondering if she could use his current distraction to land a solid hit. She didn’t try it. She doubted it’d work, and anyway, she was calming down.

“You’re saying something on the _Vector_ made this happen?” She shook her head. “That’s an Imperial ship.”

Solo scoffed. “Right. Like nothing ever goes wrong on those.”

Rey sucked her teeth. He was right, of course. Imperial ships weren't immune to disaster. The state of the _Purge_ proved that, but she still didn’t understand.

"What's that got to do with you?"

Solo's mouth crumpled and he brought a hand up to swipe at his hair. He pushed back his bangs and sighed, as though this were all quite boring. 

"Like I said, no time. Let’s just say, we've got a job to do."

There it was again; _we_. She really should ask.

"And I'm guessing you'd like for me to let you do it."

Rey hoisted her ax. Ben watched it arc, wary of a swing. She didn't follow it through, though. Didn't think she wanted to. She wanted to believe that Solo was telling the truth.

"That'd beat the alternative."

"Which is?"

"Me dropping you, taking that ax, and leaving anyway." He licked his lips. "I don't want to, but I will if you make me."

Having seen his escape record, she believed that he would, but she couldn't resist protesting.

"I'd be dead. You're en route to Vader, not some small-time Moff."

"You might be dead anyway. I was guessing with the air scrubber." 

The admission punched all the air from her gut. He didn't give her time to regain footing before carrying on.

"I wasn't lying before," he said more soothingly. "I like you, so don't be stupid." He gestured to the hall, drawing attention to the flurry of death rattles. "You're not going to Mustafar, and you're never getting that puck. But--" He took a step forward, and Rey didn't even bother to brandish her weapon. "--you can still get off the ship if you come with me."

Rey snorted. "Why should I trust you?"

"You see someone better?"

She chewed her cheek, hating that she'd found herself in a corner. She couldn't hope to fight him and win. If he could get out of that damned cell without breaking a sweat, plowing her down would be like smashing through glass. And he was right, anyway. With how quickly the sickness was spreading, there was no way they'd get to Mustafar soon. They'd need a rescue first, if anyone had even had time to call one.

Sensing her conflict, Ben slowed his own breathing, and she felt it again: that gentle nudge against her temple. It didn't try to burrow. It only rubbed the spot, circling to ease the tension there before it could peak. She relaxed into the touch, less wary of it than the first time. Probably because she knew he didn't need to steal from her mind now, Rey thought.

"I know this isn't ideal," he said, "but we could use more muscle, and I swear-- on my life-- I can get you out of here. We've got a few exit strategies, and one is going to work. What've you got if you stay here?"

 _Nothing_ , she thought. Even before this, even if today had gone like any other, the answer would be the same. She had nothing: no ties to the Empire, and no reason to stick around now that she'd been presented with a way out.

"If this is a trick," she said tightly, "or if I start to think you're trying to lose me--"

"You won't."

"If I do," she pressed on, "you're dead."

The words hung between them, bobbing on waves of slimy coughs that still rang through the hall.

"Fair enough," he said eventually. "Now, can we get moving?"

Rey nodded her consent, wondering how long it'd take her to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a day, huh? Rey's life just got 100% more complicated. Hope everyone liked this update!
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm officially working on another multi-chap fic, and it's updating with this one simultaneously. As such, I'll probably only have a chance to update once or twice a month going forward, but I hope the story is worth the wait for everyone :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Back with another update :) We're really getting somewhere now!

"Hey, Trooper?" Ben asked as Rey herded him into the turbolift.

She didn't answer. She didn't think they had time, though the droids hadn't seen them yet. She wasn't sure what their programming demanded if an inmate, even being escorted, was seen outside their cell during total lockdown, and she didn’t want to find out.

She kept her blade between his shoulders and hurried him along, not daring to relax until the door shut behind them. When it did, she drew her ax back and punched the _up_ button. It was just a guess. Solo hadn’t told her where to go yet, but “up” seemed like the better option. The lower decks were all storage and isolation blocks. The only reason to go down would be in the hopes of hiding out somewhere the air might be cleaner, but something told her hiding out wasn’t the plan.

"What?" she finally responded.

She put her back to the wall, catty-corner to where Solo leaned against the handrail. His head was canted curiously, and he was almost smiling.

"Were you coming to spring me?" 

She flushed, the heat making it even more uncomfortable under her helmet. That’s _exactly_ what her plan had been. She’d be damned if she said it though. It’d make her sound stupid.

“Of course not,” she lied, then scoffed for good measure. Her breath blew out in a static through her vocoder. “I was just making sure I didn’t have to scrape you off the floor. I don’t think Vader would pay as much for a corpse.”

Ben shook his head, planting his arms on either side of the guardrail he was resting on. 

“He wouldn’t pay at all. Actually, he’d probably kill you. And Kloth. Maybe the whole crew.”

She considered asking why. She still wanted to know what Ben had done to get Vader’s attention. That he’d dodged the question the other day annoyed her, but maybe he wouldn’t now. He had to trust her, at least a little. Or maybe he didn’t. She was good muscle, and that might be all he cared about. 

“Is it still a bad time for sad stories?”

He tongued his teeth, seeming to consider it. Rey tried not to get her hopes up.

“Not exactly,” he said. “But our schedule’s tight. How about this: if we make it off, I’ll tell you on the outbound flight.”

Her discomfort with the fact that he said _if_ outstripped her disappointment.

“I thought you said you had an exit plan.”

“We do. Five, actually, but everyone’s luck runs out sometime.”

She didn’t know what to make of how casually he said that. He didn’t sound like he cared either way, which couldn’t be true. Solo at least had to care if _he_ lived or not. No one in the galaxy could be that cavalier.

“Maybe you should run them by me. I know the _Purge_ inside and out. I might have some insight.”

“Maybe later. Right now, I need you to get me to Kloth’s level.”

“What for?”

She didn’t wait for the answer to press the button, a fact that widened Ben’s already beaming grin. Something about the expression embarrassed her, and she was grateful for being covered. Him even being able to see her face would’ve made the moment lewd.

“Just a little detour. He’s got something of mine. Once I’ve got it back, we’re going down to isolation.”

Rey kept her eyes on the buttons, watching them light as they passed one floor, then another, then three more.

“Is that where ‘we’ is?”

Ben hummed. “Last I heard. I’ll check in with them to make sure before we go out of our way, though.”

She kept her attention fixed on the buttons, not bothering to ask how he was possibly going to do that.

* * *

Usually, getting anywhere near Kloth’s office would’ve been impossible. The upper levels of the _Purge_ were always bustling, and the collective staff would’ve been shocked to see a prisoner there, so far from his cell with only a single escort. Rey could’ve tried to pass it off, of course. She had a reputation for subduing big men. She might’ve even been able to lie well enough to convince most of them that Kloth asked to see Solo personally. Inevitably, though, someone wouldn’t have bought it. There was too much ground to cover for her to stay lucky, and the second someone called the warden’s office to confirm, her and Solo’s cover would’ve been blown.

That wasn’t going to be a problem today, though. Most of the staff had funneled into Quadrant Medbay, and the ones who’d stayed behind were either distracted, dead, or dying. She could’ve had a whole troop of prisoners in tow and still not have been noticed.

As they made their way through the nest of downed bodies, Rey tried not to think about how many she might know. She kept her attention off their faces, or, in the case of those in helmets, refused to scan their chest plates for ID numbers. She didn’t want to see Nines or one of her bunkmates in the carnage. And it _was_ carnage. This wasn’t a war zone, and she’d never been a foot soldier, but she’d heard stories. Nines was full of them, and when he was feeling reflective, sometimes he’d tell her a few.

 _You can’t imagine that much blood,_ he said once. _It seems impossible, like there couldn’t be that much in the whole galaxy. There is, though. It stains everything, and stinks so bad you can taste it._

He’d been right. Underneath the acrid reek of bile and purged tissue, she scented a layer of blood. The cough must’ve shredded their throats, or maybe the infection made organs rupture. There was no other reason for everything to smell like blood.

“You alright?” Solo asked.

His voice was soft, and when her eyes met his, she found sympathy there. The warm brown color made him look friendly, and so did his pout. She shook herself and steadied her breath.

“It’s nothing.”

He didn’t buy it. “First time seeing bodies?”

 _Bodies._ That made them sound disposable. Like they’d always been trash and were just waiting for the clean up.

“First time seeing this many.”

People died on the _Purge_ all the time. Inmates and crew members got sick, fights broke out, and the warden staged “accidents”. Those deaths had been easy to swallow, though. They staggered themselves in a way that felt natural. What was happening now wasn’t natural at all. It was ugly and fast and foul. None of these people should be dead. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I remember what that was like.”

The next several minutes passed in tense silence. They were on the right floor, and Rey tried to focus on cutting a path. Ignoring the sticky tack of her boots and the miserable few still living, she led them down a series of service halls. Ben followed close, his steps so perfectly in time with hers that they didn’t echo. It sounded like she was alone, and wasn’t that strange? He looked so lumbering that she expected him to be noisy. Several times, she had to glance back to prove to herself he was there. Whenever she did, he gave a playful half smile and winked.

This must’ve been how he usually slipped the chain.

Nearly ten minutes later, Rey turned them down the final corridor. She remembered from a few emergency drills that this one dumped out near Kloth’s office. The head was maybe three rooms down, though she couldn’t remember left or right. She’d know when she saw it, though, and how close they were getting eased some of the tightness in her chest. 

“Almost there,” she called back over her shoulder. “Tell me you’ve got a plan.”

“Don’t worry, Trooper. There’s always a plan.”

“Rey,” she corrected.

“What?”

“That’s my name.” She’d been debating telling him for several minutes, not seeing a point in keeping it secret anymore. If she was caught abetting escape, a name would be the least of her troubles. “You asked a few weeks ago.”

“I did,” he muttered, sounding surprised. “Well then, Rey--” He paused, letting the name hang between them. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yea. You too.”

They came to the end of the hall moments later. Rey held up a hand for Ben to halt and she crept ahead, vibro-ax at the ready, to peeked around the corner down the hall. She looked left, then right, and left again before signalling for him that it was clear. Well, mostly clear. Bodies were strewn everywhere, but there was nothing she could do about that.

Most were still and leaking blood from the mouth, but some were still writhing in pain. Those strange, mottling bruises under their skin seemed to crawl with them. Her gut lurched at the sight, but thankfully she didn’t have long to dwell on it. Ben scurried into the hall ahead of her, ready to move. After asking her which way, he took the lead.

Halfway down the hall, she called for him to stop again.

“This it?” he asked, eyeing the door just ahead.

“That’s it,” she confirmed. “I should tell you, he doesn’t look like much, but--”

Ben interrupted with a laugh. “Don’t worry. He isn’t even in there.”

Her brow furrowed. How could he possibly know? The door was shut, and there weren’t any windows. There wasn’t even a peep hole for him to squint through. Some Jedi trick, maybe. That was convenient.

“Ok,” she said, moving on to the next issue. “Well, then that complicates getting in.”

Ben cocked his head. “Did you think I was planning to knock?”

“Well, no, but--”

“Look, just leave it to me and keep an eye out. This shouldn’t take long.”

Rey frowned. She didn’t like taking orders, but tolerated it within the military structure. Insubordination was no joke. Troopers got killed for it, and no superior would think twice about dropping her. But Ben wasn’t her superior. He was a rogue prisoner, and she didn’t like his tone. Before she could say that, though, his hand had gone to cover the keypad next to the door and his eyes slotted closed.

She watched his fingers ghost the keys, seeking out something. Lingering heat, maybe, or something more mystical. Whatever it was, his forehead creased in concentration. She studied his face, how his boyish features hardened and his tongue peaked out between lips. He was thinking, _penetrating_ , and she could almost feel the ripples of it spreading out around them.

After a few moments, something rolled off his back in a proud, gleeful wave. She couldn’t help but guess.

“You have the code?”

“And you have good senses. Ever thought about trying to use them?”

She scoffed. “Be serious.”

“I am.” 

He opened his eyes and tapped a sequence into the pad. It gave three short, chirping pings, and lit green. The door slid open, panels receding, and he dropped whatever he’d been thinking of. 

“Keep an eye out,” he reminded, then slipped inside.

Rey put her back to the wall next to the door and widened her stance, crossing her ax like she was on guard duty. It wasn’t worth the effort. With the office empty, and the hall what it was, there wasn’t anything to guard against. Everything was still, and even the few feeble retching noises from earlier were gone. A heavy blanket of death laid over everything, and it stank. Rey wished the scrubbers could do something about the smell.

She didn’t have long to dwell on the stench, though. Barely two minutes later, Ben came strolling through the door. Grinning, he tossed what looked like a hilt in the air. It hovered a second too long to have been natural before falling again.

“What’s that?” she asked.

It had to be some sort of weapon, but it didn’t look like a blaster. Maybe a grenade, but what would he need that for? A one-time use missile didn’t seem worth all this effort.

“My saber. Kloth wanted a trophy, but--” He clucked his tongue. “Better luck next time, old man.”

He wedged the hilt under his belt and Rey stared, gaping stupidly.

“You actually have one?”

“My file didn’t say?”

She shook her head. “Suspected, but unconfirmed.”

His brow quirked. “What kind of wastoid can’t confirm a lightsaber? Actually--” He shook his head. “You know what, doesn’t matter." He peered back into the room, squinting at something on Kloth's desk. "I need to make a call.”

"To your boarding partners?" The man nodded and Rey carded through her mental map of this level. "There's a control room a few halls over," she suggested. "I could try patching you. Might not work, but--"

"Not necessary."

She didn't have time to bristle at the interruption, because seconds later he bit down strangely. He worked through an unnatural chew, the motion resulting in a click. Rey heard a faint burst of static from something going live.

"On the move," Ben said, but not to her. "Respond if the hall is clear."

It took several seconds for her to register who he was speaking to.

“Is that a _comm implant_?”

Even through the vocoder, her incredulity read clear. She didn’t know the rebels could afford to disseminate that kind of tech. Or maybe they couldn’t. Maybe it was reserved for the Organa-Solos. That, or Ben and his team of smugglers paid out of pocket. 

The man rolled his eyes before very deliberately plugging the ear closest to her. Rey grimaced, but maybe it’d been a stupid question. She couldn’t tell. She felt more than double in over her head. She wrung her gloves over the handle of her ax, hoping that the familiar weight would ground her. She needed to maintain all the footing she could. Neither she or Ben could afford for her to crack.

After a few tense seconds, another burst of static came from behind Solo’s teeth. The man relaxed, unplugging his ear.

“Good to hear,” he said. “Just hold tight. We’re en route, and if we catch the right lifts it shouldn’t-- what?” He paused, eyes flicking to her. She straightened on instinct, hefting her ax into inspection position. “No, you heard right. I... picked up a stray.”

Nearly thirty seconds lapsed before Ben spoke again. Rey doubted they were quiet for him, though. His mouth turned down, frown deepening by the second, and a strange sort of feeling bled out from where he stood. It came much the same as his excitement over having found the code had. She felt it roll through the air all around her. It felt like annoyance.

“You’re not going to be saying that when you see her.” His brow shot up in response to whatever his correspondent said. “Like a plastoid beetle. You really want to do this? Or can we just get to the part where I spring you?”

Rey didn’t know the context, but couldn’t imagine that _plastoid beetle_ was meant to be flattering. Trying not to worry about it, she tuned out the rest of Ben’s conversation, focusing instead on the weight of her own commlink. She thought about Nines, and wondered if it’d be safe to ping. Would he answer, and if he did, what would she say? She didn’t have a good explanation for what she was doing. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure Nines would buy it. He’d been a Trooper since childhood, and that kind of conditioning was nearly impossible to break. And even if she could break it, she didn’t think Solo’s team would be keen on him picking up another “stray”.

By the man’s tone, she could tell that her own addition to the team hadn’t been well received. She could understand. She was a Trooper, and his mates had no reason to trust her. She just hoped they trusted Ben enough to give her a chance. She didn’t like her odds of surviving whatever was going without him.

“Alright,” Ben sighed after a few more minutes, dragging Rey’s attention back to the call. “Just stay still. We won’t be long, so don’t do anything stupid.” A few seconds pause, then Ben smiled again, almost indulgently. “You too, old man.”

He bit down again and the comm powered off. The underlying static fizzled out, leaving the air between them dead. His shoulders slumped and he pinched his nose, like he was warding off a headache.

“Sorry you had to hear-- ah, half of that.” He shook his head, hair falling over his shoulders. “He’s not really that much of a hardass. He’s just suspicious of newcomers. We’ve had bad luck with defectors in the past.”

 _Defector._ The word shot through Rey’s chest like a blaster bolt. How many would-be deserters had she seen executed? Whether they ran from the training facility or the _Purge_ didn’t matter; they wound up dead and shot out of an airlock either way. 

Shaking the thought-- it didn’t matter, and anyway, who was going to space her?-- Rey cleared her throat.

“Is it going to be a problem?”

“No. He’ll come around.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I know him pretty well, and if there’s one thing he’s soft for--” He trailed off to eye her vibro-ax. “--it’s a woman who packs a punch.”

* * *

They didn’t run into any trouble on the way down to iso, which Rey was grateful for. She didn’t think she could’ve stomached a fight. By the time they reached the right sublevel, the stink of the collective, festering dead was nearly overwhelming.

Maybe it was the nature of the sickness, or maybe it was just the sloppy filth of infected fluid. Either way, Rey couldn’t help thinking that decay was setting on fast. She knew corpses needed icing, but this seemed accelerated. The swarming black bruising beneath the dead Trooper's skin still seemed to be pulsing. Maybe it was rot, and that's what was turning the bodies. Whatever it was, it was tearing them apart. Some of the bodies had entire chunks missing out of their exposed flesh. They were being unmade. She wondered if anything would be left when the _Purge_ was finally found.

"Do you know what's going on?" she asked Ben as they took the hall leading out from the turbolifts.

"Off hand? I'd say the worst day of everyone's life."

She pursed her lips. "But what, specifically?"

The man shrugged. She watched it roll through his shoulders, having taken the back since he seemed to know which cells to look for. She kept her ax ready, providing cover, not that he needed it. Even if he didn't have a saber, they were alone.

"I know about as much as you do," he admitted. "Like I said, Luke's vision wasn't specific, and the related intel just confirmed there was an unaccounted for Destroyer out here."

Rey frowned. "But he must've known something else. How else did you figure out team immunity?"

"We didn't." The words came tight, like she'd hit a nerve. "We had to take it on his word that we wouldn't get sick."

"But that's--" she began, then trailed off, shook her head. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Because that's a suicide run with kriff all to go on."

Ben gave a laugh so loud and sharp that it echoed down the hall. "That's what I said. But, like I told you, I was outvoted."

"By who?"

"Skywalker. He usually gets what he wants."

Rey allowed that to settle between them, taking the next few meters in silence. She waited until their next turn before speaking again.

“Do you and Skywalker not get along? It’s just, how you’ve been talking about him--”

“It’s complicated,” he interrupted. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it. We don’t have time to touch that.”

Rey chewed her tongue, forcing back several questions. Hadn’t he trained under Luke? Why had he left? Why was he doing missions for someone he didn’t like? And, while they were at it, _why_ didn’t he like him? She didn’t know much about Luke Skywalker, but she’d heard stories and read a few reports. His powers were legendary, and the work he’d done to rebuild the Jedi was nothing short of impressive. He’d remodeled several temples, opened an academy, and trained a new generation of Force Sensitives. He’d reappropriated stolen relics, texts, and sabers from the black market, and most impressively: survived encounters with Vader. As Rey understood, the two had faced off more than once, but the Sith Lord hadn’t been able to cut him down. It was strange from what she knew of Vader’s history of suppression, and could only mean that Skywalker was a great warrior.

She didn’t say that, though. Even if she couldn’t see the tension knitting between Ben’s shoulders, she’d have felt it. It rolled out thickly to meet her. His feelings were more palpable than anyone she’d ever met.

She wondered why that was, and if it had anything to do with the tests Vader’s acolytes had given her. She wouldn’t kid herself; she didn’t think she had the sort of abilities Ben did, but she had something. Otherwise, she couldn’t have blocked him. What did that mean? Could she do anything with that, other than pick up on particularly strong moods?

“Focus,” Ben called over his shoulder, like he’d been listening. “We’re almost there.”

She shook her head to clear it, returning her attention to the hall around them. It was dark, lined with cells with small ports in the doors. Food and water could be passed through them, and anyone left alive could’ve pressed their faces in for a glimpse. No one looked, though, and judging by the smears of blood and bile, Rey had a guess as to why.

Slowing his pace, Ben gave a whistle. He hit three clear notes, and two return calls bounced back. One was an answering whistle, and the other a warbling growl. He released a breath, smiling a little in spite of obvious tension.

“You know,” he called, “no one said you had to go and land yourselves in iso. You could’ve saved me some trouble by staying up top.”

A good humored laugh issued from the nearest cell, muffled by the durasteel door. A strange, rumbling vocalization came from the one next to it; maybe a Wookiee, but Rey wasn’t sure.

“And miss your complaining?” the man inside said. “Not a chance, kid. Now, get me out.”

“No problem. Just stand back. I don’t want to hear it if your jacket gets scorched.”

After giving the man inside time to comply, Ben tugged his lightsaber free. He pressed a button and Rey smelled what was coming before it happened. Ozone and something weird and electric cut through the festering rot. It sliced the air, and seconds later, a bolt of energy shot out to meet it. It was long, humming, and almost chemically green. It must’ve been the blade, but Rey didn’t have time to study it. Almost as soon as the weapon was activated, he plunged it into the door.

Rey watched, eyes widening as the length sunk into the durasteel. Ben pressed hard, grunting from the effort, until half of it was buried, then began dragging up to make a cut. His jaw clenched, grip white around the hilt as he forced it through what must’ve been a foot of solid metal. It cut like cold lard, red hot liquid dripping down to sizzle when it hit the floor. Ben ignored it, not even caring when some splashed near his boots. He focused on finishing his arc, sweeping up and back down before cutting across to connect the line. When it met, he deactivated his blade and kicked the panel hard enough to send it crashing into the cell.

A low whistle rang out as the clattering settled.

“How many minutes was that? Felt like two.” A pair of boots shuffled near and a gray head appeared in the cut out. “That’s got to be a new record. Help me out, would you?”

Ben took the hand that reached through the hole, guiding the older man through the opening. It took negotiating, but eventually he was free and straightening to greet his rescuer. He grinned up at the taller, younger man, and the lopsided expression was familiar. He had the same smile as Ben: all snaggle toothed and charming. Same eyes, too. They must be related.

“Are you Han Solo?” she asked without thinking.

The older man shrugged. “Depends on who’s asking, and what they want with him.”

She snorted. This was definitely Ben’s father. Before she could say as much, though, the older man gestured to the opposite cell.

“Get him out before he keels.” On cue, another distressed wail rumbled out. The older man rolled his eyes. “Easy there, buddy. Your little guy is on the way.”

Ben’s mouth crumpled at the words, but he got to work. Reigniting his saber, he plunged it into the other wall. While he worked, the older man turned his full attention to Rey. He rested his fists on his hips, eyes scanning her armor, helmet, and vibro-ax.

“Going hunting later?” he scoffed. Not unkindly, but like someone used to picking little fights. His eyes, set deep above wrinkled cheeks, sparked with humor. “You could kill a tuk’ata with that thing.”

“Who needs tuk’ata?” She hefted her ax and gave a swing. His eyes followed it, fingers twitching near his belt where a blaster should be. “I’ve knocked more teeth out of Crymorah members with this than you could probably count.”

The older man’s face went slack.

“You’ve got a mouth, kid. Bet it gets you in trouble.”

“Sometimes.” She shrugged. “But I’ve got more muscle, and that usually gets me out again.”

Han-- she assumed-- pursed his lips, deepening the smoker’s lines around them.

“I’m sure it does.” His eyes cut to his son, almost through his final sweep in the cell wall. Rey followed his gaze, lingering on Ben’s strained expression. “He tell you who we’re running with?”

“He did.”

“And you’re alright with that? No mushy feelings for the Empire?”

She could’ve laughed. The Empire had stolen her. She didn’t care what happened to Kloth or his ship. The prisoners were another story; she hated how horribly they’d died, and her fellow Troopers-- maybe even Nines… but no, she couldn’t think of him now. There was no way of proving he wasn’t still alive. He always kept his helmet on on shift, and he’d said that his air scrubbers were new. For all she knew, he was alive and holed up in a control room, calling for help. She had to stay positive, focused, and try raising him again later. It was all she could do.

“I just want off this ship.”

Han hummed, nodding slowly. “It’s your lucky day, then, because so do we. And lady? We _always_ get off the ship.”

She knew that was true, up until now anyway. Ben’s record spoke to it. But Solo said it himself: luck ran out on everyone sometime. 

All she could do was hope that this wouldn’t be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again so much for all the reading! I'm thrilled y'all are enjoying this story so much. I really didn't expect anyone but me to care about this, and it's so heartwarming to see y'alls reactions.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully everyone that's read this far enjoyed themselves! I have a lot of plans for this fic. I'm writing it as I go (and am working on two other reylo fics simultaneously), so I can't make promises on speedy updates. Very excited to show y'all what I've got planned, though.


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